Saturday, February 27, 2010

Some Random Shit

When I was little, like around 3 or 4, people would frequently tell my mother (in my presence) that I would be a real heartbreaker someday.

I hated it when people said that. I didn't want to break anyone's heart. That would be MEAN. My wee self resented the implication that I would ever do such a thing.

So when I grew up, I grew to be the guy who doesn't break hearts, but also doesn't get to have relationships.

It's funny how shit works out.

* * *

Notes taken about a mall last week:

I wondered a bit if the high-end places like the Grove or the Americana [upscale, open-air malls] hurt the old indoor malls like the Galleria. Answer: no. It's just got older, become oddly duller. The clientele is at first glance poorer or at least lower-class and fringey. It's not that these people wouldn't be seen at the Grove or what have you; it's just they're more at home here.

Maybe my perspective has been skewed by my travels amongst the big livers (and/or wannabes), or maybe I'm just older and more jaded.

The old-school malls still have stores you don't see anywhere else, stores that can only survive in the rarified ecosystem of enclosed economics. Here franchise outlets like Mrs Fields and Sbarros, Sanrio Surprise and Swatch (Swatch! Seriously?!? There are that many people that nostalgic or ironic about the 80's?) survive if not thrive.

Amongst this seething bustle of melting-pot humanity, each willing to be parted with their money, it's hard to believe there's a recession on.

It's also hard to believe SHE's with HIM, I'm no worse a catch.

People don't change as much as we like to think. At least not in my lifespan. The trappings change but underneath we're the same now as we were in 1985. This mall could be swapped for the one I remember from my youth, in Canada, and you'd be hard-pressed to see the difference.

Also I can't find the arcade. I think maybe the Galleria doesn't have one.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

* * *

Sometimes I wonder if I'm really as smart as I think I am. Given that I've been living in the outside world for five years and haven't parlayed my various talents into fame and fortune (or even an acceptably independent lifestyle), I don't think such doubts are entirely unreasonable.

Then I see a movie like Shutter Island, billed as a twisty-turny suspenseful thriller -- that I figured out the ending to, around about the halfway mark. I mean really; I missed a few details, but otherwise was pretty dead-on. Consequently I spent the whole second hour of the movie in a state of boredom.

Also, just a note on this film in particular: The camerawork and/or film editing annoyed the living SHIT out of me. I get they were trying to be arty or whatever, and in some cases I could totally tell what they were trying to do specifically for that scene. But it didn't work. It was actively distracting; the way camera angles changed (often unnaturally and unnecessarily) threw me out of the movie to such a degree I actually considered walking out.

Anyway... the friend I went with, who I consider a fairly bright person, was totally into the film, totally didn't see any of it coming, and was pretty much blown away by it. Which, you know, I'm happy for her.

But it sort of answers my question. At the very least, if I'm not smarter, my mind at least works the right way for movies and shit.

Incidentally the whole business of wondering about your own intelligence? It's documented fact that people who really are smart and capable tend to underestimate their abilities, while people who are just dumb as bricks think they're the living shit.

I find this information slightly disturbing. So does that mean I'm dumb for thinking I'm smart? You can see how easy it could be, to get into a vicious circle on that one. I choose not to dwell on it. I could be doing better things. Like figuring out ways to parlay my various skills and talents into fame and fortune, goddamn it!

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

The Big Fat Deal

So unless you've been living under a rock, or just stay away from online news services, you've heard about the Southwest Airlines/Kevin Smith flap.

In a nutshell, he was asked to get off a full plane because he was considered (by the people on the ground dealing with him) that he was too fat for a single seat (which was all that was available) and so was a safety hazard.

Well, there's a lot been said about it and much of it by those involved, so I'm not going to hash any of that over again. Instead I'm going to talk about being fat.

It's something I know a little about, in that I've been on the "over" side of the weight debate for a large proportion of my life. Not by a HUGE amount (I was never morbidly obese), but enough that I surely wasn't the sexiest stud around. Enough that I'm somewhat familiar with the pains and humiliations of rotundity.

At the same time though, I do avoid the worst of it, the black (or awestruck) stares, the derogatory remarks, the general social ostracism from a culture that worships health and youth.

So being as I am pretty much in the middle, once again I'm in a position to moderate. Yay.

It seems like people treat being fat as something new. True, it's entirely possible that the Ballooning of America is reaching new heights, but historically speaking, girth is associated with wealth, and America pretty much defines "first-world country". In other words, despite the mammoth deficits and debts the country is in, it's still a rich country. And its citizenry do reflect that.

Now I guess some people are going to blame eating disorders and mental issues and all kinds of other stuff. Personally I consider these to be excuses. They're not the disease, they're symptoms.

I see this as a battle between economics and aesthetics. Also personal space, but that only applies to airplanes and buses.

But see, economically, it behooves the entire country to eat a lot. Because larger portions mean higher prices. Proper nutrition education is lacking, but so too are accessible and affordable healthy alternatives (which a dark corner of my mind wonders if these aren't deliberately so). Mostly though, people are in a hurry or are bored, and so they don't pay attention to what they eat. So maybe they didn't notice the portions growing bigger.

Bigger burgers and fries mean the ranchers and farmers can sell bigger herds and crops (going all the way to the far end of this particular chain). It's all a matter of keeping the highs high in terms of revenue streams. You don't want it to decrease or stay level; it needs to go up.

On the flip side of this is the popular artistic culture which promotes the hell out of beautiful, lithe young men and women who apparently lead lives of charm and grace (except when they don't), staying on the bleeding edge of fashion, gadgets, cars and sex partners. They show us the world we want, that we would give our collective and/or metaphorical left nuts to have.

Except of course, we're fat. We're also in debt. And aging, sometimes poorly. And we don't all have faces like those we see on screens all around us, and we don't all have personalities that inspire the interest and adulation of millions. (True, it's doubtful those pretty young things all do either. Just saying.) And most importantly, we don't have a team of writers to ensure that no matter what happens, we'll all be okay in the end, just before the credits roll.

But hey, we can forget about that for a bit with the help of a beer or six, or some chocolate ice cream. It's easier to do this, the perceived gain so much more immediate, than taking the real-world path to that heavenly life.

Because in the real world, true success doesn't come easy. The deck IS stacked against us, we the people, the washed or unwashed rabble. In the quest of the almighty dollar (and I'm being charitable as to objectives), economic structures were put in place decades ago that make debt and destitution inevitable to the unwary.

By the time we're old enough and hopefully wise enough to see it, we're already in the hole. And we're now too weak and tired to haul ourselves out.

I paint a grim picture, I know. But see, it's not that it HAS to be that way, merely that unless you're willing to work at it, from the cradle, yes, to the grave - it's the likeliest scenario. It's not enough to have talent, not enough to be a special snowflake.

But I digress.

Back to the whole business of being fat, and being discriminated against thereby. Well, I gotta say it: Fat people ain't pretty. And it's the nature of the human beast, that oddly enough, we don't want to be near things that aren't pretty.

Now, I'm not taking SIDES on this, or saying it's just or fair. But it's how it is. I mean shit, look at me. I know I'm an FLK. Were I fit, I'd probably be all right, but I'm not. So yes, it probably IS too much to ask that I have the prettiest girls, the ones who attract by the very rawness of their physical appeal. Because on bodies alone, my lack of physical aestheticism repels stronger than they attract me.

Now of course we all know that what really matters ain't looks. That's really not the point here. Because it's a lot harder to get the hotness inside if you can't bring yourself to get close enough to see.

Naturally, people who are themselves tubby, provided they have a realistic self-image, aren't gonna care so much. But to people who did take it upon themselves to work at being fit, who strove after those ideals and put in the effort - the tubbies harsh the buzz. It's like they're letting the team down, man. Here's me, they say, working hard in the gym, trying to stay young and hot so I'm at least not uglier than my environment, and I take that to the job too so I can afford the nice clothes and the baubles for my crack-model wannabe girlfriend, and so I can afford to get my teeth lasered and that, sir, is how I keep the economy going and isn't that so much better than being a fat slob and sweating on me?

Thing I've noticed though? With exception of those blessed with perfect metabolisms, the fit ones don't seem to think that great. Because all that running around and counting reps doesn't often leave much room for the higher order thinking that makes society worth living in.

Oh, nor do the bulbous ruminants, to be sure. Because they're hungry and usually thinking about dinner, or how horrible that man was to me when I was just walking past and the tremors I caused dumped his coffee in his lap.

And now you all know why I'm actually generally okay with being in the middle. See how I turned it around on myself? I'm a total attention whore sometimes.

No but seriously: No one's perfect. Not perfectly good nor perfectly bad, either. And no "way" is perfect for everyone, or in every facet. And every conflict I see, every Big Fat Deal someone makes, it seems to me that they always come out of forgetting the important detail that one day the problem will be you. So you'd at least better make sure today isn't that day.